It's all about Mary
by Ellyn92
Summary: Weechesters! Sam (14) and Dean's (18) finals are coming up and they have to study, but John wants them to tag along on another hunt. After an argument, only two Winchesters leave to find a haunted house. But what if John withheld his true motives for investigating the haunted house? Who will pay the price?
1. We got a hunt!

**Hey everyone!**

 **So this is my very first supernatural fanfic (hurray!)! It will be a multichapter story. I already wrote most of it, so I hope to update frequently. As a non-native speaker of the beautiful english language, I have to check the story multiple times on errors before publishing (I hope I did a decent job ;-) ). So that might take a while. If you notice any mistakes, please alert me so I can fix them =D I hope you enjoy the story! Reviews and constructive criticism are allowed and much appreciated ;-) FYI: Dean is 18 in this story and Sam is aged 14. Oh and ... any medicial explenations used in later chapters will be entirely made up by me. Don't blame me, unfortunately I am not a doctor ;)**

 **Greetings!**

 **Ellyn**

It was an exceptionally sunny day and the end of the school year was nearing. If everything went according to plan, Dean would be graduating from high school, much to his relief. But of course, for the Winchester family, nothing ever went according to plan…

"What do you mean by 'we got a hunt'?" Sam spat at Dad. Dean rolled his eyes, as he knew this discussion was never going to end on good terms. Both he and Sam had been studying for their finals all afternoon, until their dad came home fifteen minutes ago. The youngest and oldest Winchester had been arguing ever since.

"It's not hard to understand Sammy, Bobby called about a haunted house in a nearby town and we got to go," John shot back.

"Can't Bobby help you out? We got to study," Sam indicated himself and Dean with the ballpoint pen he was holding.

"No, he can't. He's too far away. And – o look!", John gazed around and pretended to be surprised to find Sam right in front of him, "You're already here!"

"It's not funny dad, I got math on Monday and Dean has to study so he can graduate – remember?" Sam looked at Dean for a little support, but Dean just shrugged and said: "I'll go, but Sam stays here. We can do just fine with the both of us, dad. I'm done studying anyway."

That was a plain lie and Dean knew it, yet he didn't care. He realized that this discussion was going to end with his dad dragging both of them along for the hunt. Sam would be complaining the entire ride to that haunted place and back, and Dean wouldn't have it. He'd rather go by himself and let Sam study. At least one of them would get what he wants.

"But Dean!" Sam yelled, "you got to graduate man, come on." Sam threw his pen onto his math book and rose from his chair. "This isn't fair, dad! For gods sake, that ghost has been haunting that place for years. One week more or less won't make any difference!"

"Tell that to the next person who will get trapped in there and hurts himself. Sam, this thing has been harassing people for years! We got to act, and we got to act now. Do you understand?" Johns eyes pierced Sam's. Sam took a step forward and was ready to continue the argument, but Dean decided he'd had enough. He moved himself between Sam and his father, facing his dad.

"I'll go, Sam stays. He won't be of any use anyway, 'cause he does not want to go. All he'll do is complain. He'll only be in the way," Dean told his father, folding his arms. He saw Johns face relax a little as he realized that Dean was right, yet the man would never admit it.

"You'll be sorry for this Sam," John barked over Deans shoulder. After that, he turned around on his heels and stormed out. Just before he slammed the door shut behind his back, he yelled: "Dean, get your bag, now! We leave in 10 minutes!"

As soon as the sound of Johns footsteps and his swearing died, Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders.

"Why do you do this? You know how important school is, Dean! Do you want to fail?" he asked, an edge of worry in his voice.

Dean groaned, he didn't have the time nor the will to continue arguing: "Listen Sammy, someone's gotta go. I'll pass my finals anyway, and if I don't, dad'll make sure I can graduate by threatening the headmistress. Besides, if I don't tag along with dad, you'll have to. Is that what you want?"

"No, but-" Sam began, but Dean cut him off with one angry glare.

"Drop it Sam. I'll go, you stay. And I'll kill you if I find out you didn't study all weekend!" Dean turned away from his brother and walked over to his messy, unmade bed in the corner of the living room of their rented apartment. The place was so small they had to use the living room as a bedroom and dining room as well.

Dean grabbed his duffel and started to pack some stuff, but he felt Sam's gaze on his back. Deep inside he felt guilty for acting so rude, but Sam needed to understand. Sam was the one who valued education above anything else, but Dean's future did not depend on his math grades. Dean never cared about something as dull as school – his heart lay in the hunt. Saving people was his job. A ghost or werewolf didn't care if you failed your tests or excelled in them, the thing would kill you anyway. Sam didn't see things that way, which was fine by Dean. Dean just hoped that one day, Sam would realize that the things we want most in life are not always the things we get. Dean learned that lesson, and he'd been living it over and over again for almost 14 years by now. He never got what he wanted, but at least he could try to give Sam a chance at living the life he dreams of, can't he? Even if that includes math and wicked science.

"Fine," Sam finally sighed as Dean swung his duffel over his shoulder and made his way toward the door. The youngest Winchester's eyes shot daggers at Dean. It hurt Dean to see his brother like that and he really felt like he didn't deserve Sam's hatred. But they'd talk about it later.

"See you!" he forced a smile and looked at Sam one last time before he closed the door of the apartment behind him. Sam had not responded, which made Dean feel pretty bad. Sighing, Dean made his way towards the car, opened the door of the Impala and dropped himself in the passenger seat, his duffel at his feet.

"Took you long enough," John remarked coldly. Dean didn't reply.

"Did Sammy say something?" Dad asked.

"No," Dean's answered, "Just drive, ok? It's getting late. You don't want me to fall asleep during the hunt, do you?"

John eyed his son but said nothing. Clearly he understood that his oldest was fed up with the situation and for once, John was smart enough not to drag it out.


	2. John's lie

**Hello again!**

 **So here is the next chapter =D I know it's a bit short, but the next chapter should be ready soon so maybe I'll update it later tonight. I want to thank you guys for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing. Someone told me about a little mistake I made in the previous chapter, so I fixed it. Anyway, thanks a lot for the support! Enjoy the story ;-)**

 **Sweet kisses,**

 **Ellyn**

The drive towards the house had been silent and uneventful so far. Dean nor his Dad chose to talk to the other. Dean was leaning against the window and staring at the sun, which was already setting. His father was humming along some old-school song on the radio. When it was finally done, John broke the silence.

"So this ghost," John peered his eyes away from the road to glance at Dean. The latter looked away from the window and turned his head towards his dad, indicating that he was listening.

"It seems to be a male specimen. He lived in this town, used to own a farm. The man had a daughter, who married the son of the owners of our haunted house. Their marriage lived short, because both of them disappeared without a trace. The farmer went to look for his daughter and her husband and his search apparently led him to the cellar of the boys' parents mansion. There he found the bodies of the young couple, murdered. It's unclear who did it, but the farmer met his end in the cellar as well. He's been haunting the place ever since. They say his bones are still down there. So we got to salt and burn them."

Dean frowned: "And how exactly did Bobby get all this information if he is miles away from here?"

"He got the story from a befriended hunter," John said.

"Which one?" Dean asked.

"Didn't say," John shrugged.

"And you don't think this is at least a bit suspicious?" Dean remarked.

"No, Bobby gave me his word that this was a case worth investigating," John told Dean.

"But he did not give you the name of the hunter who fed him this story?" Dean replied.

"What are you insinuating?" John asked, his eyes on Dean.

"Nothing, just nothing," Dean's voice was dripping with sarcasm. Was his dad drunk? Why follow a lead given to them by an anonymous person via Bobby? That was one of the most stupid things John had ever done. Dean did not want to think about what Sam would say if he were here.

Suddenly, John hit the brakes of the Impala and steered the car to the side of the road. Once the car had stopped moving, he grabbed Dean by the shoulder and made his son face him.

"If you got something to say, say it Dean!" he commanded.

"I just said it, dad! It seems weird to me! You must be really desperate to go on this hunt, certainly when you got the information of an unknown source. At least you could have checked, huh?"

"You sound just like your brother!" John snorted.

"Yeah, well, maybe he is right about this research thing. Dad, why are we really going? You didn't get this story from Bobby, did you?" Dean looked his father right in the eye and John looked away.

"Fine, this… The story I told you is the one I heard... But I got it from an old friend of your mom," John confessed. Dean's jaw almost dropped. So that was what's making him thick. It was all about mom.

"Why didn't you tell me? Who is this person?" Dean asked.

"Some guy we knew, back in the days. Turned to hunting a year before your mother died. He was a good friend to hers before that, he visited us often. I don't think you'll remember him, you were too small. His name's Lucas," John told him.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Dean looked at his Dad, "And I still find it a very odd story."

"I know, Dean, I know. But he will be there. To help. And I thought…" John did not finish his sentence, but Dean already understood. This Lucas guy was a living and talking proof of the fact that Mary Winchester existed and that she and John had once a nice apple pie life filled with friends and laughter. Sure the guy could share some memories about his mom with his dad.

"Why did we have to come, if he is helping?" Dean asked, already guessing the answer.

"I hoped he could talk to you and Sam. About Mary. Bring back happy memories."

Although Dean had expected the answer, his heart suddenly felt heavy. His dad's intentions had been good, but his love for his wife blinded him from the truth. This case had a stench to it and Dean had a bad feeling about all of this. But he didn't have the heart to tell his father.

"Fine, fine. We'll help him. Maybe this isn't a bad idea after all," Dean lied, "How far?"

John smiled faintly and said: "Another ten minutes and we'll be there." After a short silence, he added: "Everything will be alright, I'm sure you'll like what Lucas has to say about your mom. He was very fond of her."

Dean kept his face in check, not letting on that he was worrying: "Yeah Dad, I'm looking forward to it."


	3. Lucas

**Hello again ;-)**

 **As promised (because last chapter was rather short) another (short) chapter for you guys. Thanks to scooby31415 for the nice review on the previous chapter I posted about an hour ago and thanks to fer12 for favoriting. I hope you like this chapter! A lot more is to come, but not tonight, because I am of to bed.**

 **Sweet dreams,**

 **Ellyn**

Lucas was a stocky man about the same age as John Winchester. His face had sharp lines and he did look rather worn out. His hair was black but had streaks of grey in it and was a tad too long. His pants were old and his long jacket was even older. A shotgun hung over his shoulder. He smiled as soon as he laid eyes on dad and gave him a bear hug. Dean felt as if his smile was as fake as Sam's 'All Star sneakers' he bought for 20 pence in some dumpster store a month ago.

"You must be Dean!" Lucas exclaimed as he let go of John. The man wanted to give Dean a hug as well, but Dean held out his hand before he could do so.

"Nice to meet you," he told the older man, who shook his hand.

"This one needs to warm up to me a little," Lucas flashed another fake smile and John laughed: "Dean does not easily trust strangers. Part of the job."

"Sure it is, and he as all rights to do so. It's a dangerous gig," Lucas remarked. "It sure is," Dean admitted, before he walked away from Lucas and his dad, straight towards the haunted house. There was no doubt which one it was, because there were only four buildings in this street. One had partly collapsed, one was a new apartment building still under construction and the third one was the size of a sheep shed and couldn't possibly have a haunted cellar. The fourth one, however, looked like the haunted places you often see in movies. Wooden structure, creaky doors, broken windows and a porch. It looked creepy, but Dean'd had his fair share of creepy - so he wasn't scared to enter.

"This is like the stereotype of a haunted mansion," he murmured before peeking over his shoulder. His dad and Lucas were having a vivid conversation, probably talking about Mary. They were so into it, they didn't even noticed that Dean had already reached the porch.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, annoyed, "I thought this business was urgent." His dad clearly told him that they 'had to act now'.

"Don't be such a buzzkill," Lucas shouted back, but he and dad made their way to the house nonetheless. Dean's anger started to rise, but he kept his mouth shut. He did not like this Lucas and couldn't possibly imagine how his mother had befriended a man like that. Everything about the guy shouted at Dean to run and never come back. But he stayed put.

"Do you have the salt and matches?" John asked Dean. Dean pointed at the duffel on his back. "Good," John nodded. He threw Dean one of the sawed off shotguns he was holding: "In case you need to scare the thing away."

"Thanks," Dean murmured.

"You're such a ray of sunshine," Lucas smiled, angering Dean even more. 'Why doesn't this guy shut up?' he wondered.

"Let's get this over with," Dean sighed as he opened the front door. The inside of the house was just as old and creepy as the outside. They entered a dusty hall, which contained wooden stairs and a chandelier dangling from the ceiling by a few threads. At the back of the room, there was a door with the sign 'Kitchen' on it. On the left, a door led to the living room. The right side of the room held a double, glass door leading towards the dining room. Underneath the stairs, there was a door.

"Bingo!" Dean whispered. He looked at his father, who pointed at himself, than to Dean and then to Lucas. 'I enter first, you got my back and Lucas has yours' it meant. Dean and Lucas nodded in unison and John made his move. But halfway through the hall, he started to sway.

"Dad? Dad, what is it?" Dean whispered. John waved Dean away and tried to stay on his feet, but he failed miserably. "You okay John?" Lucas asked worriedly. Before his dad could answer, he sank to his knees and passed out cold. Dean felt worry rising up his throat. "Dad," he whispered whilst shaking John by the shoulder, "Dad, do you hear me? Dad?" Dean looked up at Lucas for help, but the man just said: "This happened before, last week a guy who entered the building fainted much the same way your dad just did. Must be the ghost."

Dean frowned. He never heard of such things. Ghosts can't make people sick – can they? And why should he attack dad, but leave him and Lucas unharmed?

"You sure?" he asked Lucas.

"I am not lying, I swear," Lucas whispered fiercely.

'Yeah and I am Santa Claus,' Dean thought. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. This place had a supernatural touch to it, Dean could feel it in his gut. Maybe this guy was telling the truth? He was a friend of mom after all. Why would he lie? Only one way to find out…

"Right, we got to find that farmerghost in order to save dad and ditch it before it ditches us, right? Who goes first?" Dean asked.

"You go, I've got your back," Lucas decided.


	4. Down the rabbit hole

**Hello once more,**

 **I present you: Chapter 4! It's a longer one than the ones before and I hope you'll like it. Same rules as always: if there is anything you want to say about it (either good or bad): shoot. But be nice ;-) Have a nice day and thanks again for the support.**

 **See yah,**

 **Ellyn**

Dean had left his father behind in the hall, after he'd checked his pulse - which had been steady. John'd appeared to be fast asleep and had showed no signs of disease or distress. Dean believed it was safe enough upstairs to leave his dad behind for now and added 'checking on dad' to his list of things he had to do 'later'.

As Dean made his way down the stairs of the dark cellar, he wished he'd brought a flashlight. Unfortunately he'd left it in the car and he decided he didn't want to go back to fetch it. 'The sooner this is over, the better,' he thought. When Dean put his foot down on the last step of the stairs, he sank through it. He could feel a stabbing pain as the splinters scratched his leg and he felt small trickles of blood dripping into his right shoe. He tried very hard not to cuss. Lucas, who was still behind him, put his arms underneath Deans armpits and lifted him out of his entrapment.

"Thanks," Dean whispered. Lucas nodded kindly: "No problem, but I believe the old farmer must have noticed our presence by now."

'As if it he didn't already…' Dean thought as he made his way through the cellar. He tried not to limp too much because he did not want to appear weak in front of Lucas.

The cellar was a dusty and smelly place, yet rather small considering the size of the mansion that stood on top of it. Dean figured that either there must be an hidden area down here, or someone just got fed up while digging this place and gave up. Although it was dark down there, Dean could make out the shape of two crates filled with empty bottles that stood in the far right corner of the cellar. There was nothing else, and certainly no bones or a ghost.

"Nothing's here," Dean remarked loudly, turning around to face Lucas. But Lucas was no longer there.

"Lucas?!" Dean looked around, but he couldn't find the older man. 'Where did he go?' Dean wondered, raising his gun. "Lucas!" he called again. Dean limped back towards the stairs, but still no sign of Lucas.

"Dham it," Dean cursed, as he made his way up the stairs, carefully avoiding the lowest step. As he made it to the top, he was suddenly yanked backwards. Dean lost his balance and tumbled down the stairs, hitting the cellar ground with a loud thud.

"What the hell?" Dean tried to say, but couldn't. He'd landed on his back, and his fall had pushed all of the oxygen out of his lungs. He tried to breath, which made his chest hurt like a bitch. He hoped the pain would soon fade away.

Dean blinked a few times, trying to focus his gaze. He could see no one and that made him feel really uncomfortable. Dean pushed himself up on his elbows. That movement too hurt like hell, but Dean held back his pained scream. Maybe this place was haunted after all? Struggling to his feet, he decided to give the cellar a closer look. Whatever force had attacked him, came from behind. Something was down here, yet he did not see who – or what - it was. Lucas was gone, and his dad was lying unconscious upstairs.

"Just my luck," Dean whispered to himself as he turned around, facing the wall of the small cellar. He knocked on the wall with his fist, carefully listening while he made his way around the cellar. But none of his knocks sounded hollow; which meant there were no hidden doors or panels.

"Maybe I'm in the middle of some cheap horror movie," Dean mused.

"Are you?" a voice coming from behind him said. Dean turned around swiftly, gun in the air, but was knocked of his feet before he could shoot. He fell backwards on his injured back and couldn't hold back his cry of agony this time round. By the time Dean got himself together again, the face of Lucas drifted above his. Dean tried to spit him in the face, but failed horribly and started to cough. Lucas just stood there, watching as Dean was trying very hard not to choke. When Lucas got finally bored of watching Dean struggle, he grabbed the young Winchester by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up with one hand, so his head dangled a few inches above the cold floor.

"There – cough – never was a – cough – ghost, was there?" Dean managed. Lucas' eyes twinkled; like those of a 5 year old who just found out he was going to Disneyland.

"No, of course not. I was surprised that John bought the story instantly. But as soon as I dropped your mother's name, his hunter instincts seemed to die. Just the mere thought of talking about her with a real friend seemed to strip him of any sense of reason he had. That man is lonely and longing to be loved. I guess you and your brother did not make up for your mother's loss," Lucas' words stung. Dean tried to get away from the man's grip, but the guy was too strong.

"Why would you do this? Is this some sick joke? You were his friend once. My mom liked you!" Dean managed, his voice uncharacteristically weak.

"I was their friend, once. But that was in another lifetime," Lucas replied simply.

"Oh, no chick flick explanations please," Dean groaned. He turned his gaze away from Lucas, trying to find a way out of this mess, but couldn't. His gun lay on the ground a few feet away from him, impossible to reach. Lucas must have kicked it away.

"Nah, Dean, this is no chick flick explanation. This is reality. You see – I died. I died exactly one week ago, here, in this cellar," Lucas explained. Dean turned his head back around to face him: "What?!"

"I did. I was investigating this place, because I heard it was haunted. Yet I found nothing, so I decided it was just another urban legend. Before I left the building, I noticed it had this tiny cellar. I went down and was greeted by an old man," Lucas flashed an evil smile at Dean, who was suddenly all ears.

"He did not look supernatural, not at all, but those eyes… Those were – not normal. They were yellow," Lucas told. Dean instantly felt like someone stabbed him right in the heart.

"The man was not unkind," Lucas went on, "but I did not trust him. Yet I talked to him and at one point, our conversation was all about your family. He told me he knew you guys and asked me how I came to know you. I told him about my history with your mom – lovely woman by the way – and about how I and your dad used to watch football on Sundays, before you were born. Those were great times. The guy seemed to like my story, and then he just killed me," Lucas snapped his fingers, "just like that."

Dean stared at Lucas in horror, but before he could ask anything, the man went on: "But almost immediately after that, I woke again. He resurrected me as easily as he had taken my life. I asked him why I had to die and he told me it was because of her. Because I had been her friend, because I was one of those few happy memories of Mary Winchester he did not wipe out years ago. Yet I made a deal with him: if I were to kill you, capture your brother and kill your dad as well, he'd let me live my life. And he would make sure no supernatural creature would ever cross paths with me again. It's my ticket out! Don't you see it, Dean. You are my salvation – you, your dad and your brother," Lucas went silent, clearly amused by the horrified look on Deans face. Dean wondered how someone could become so hateful all of the sudden, when he remembered something his dad once told him about ghosts. "What is dead, should stay dead. It never truly comes back the way it was, Dean," he'd said.

But this guy wasn't a ghost, he was real – Dean could fucking touch him. He reminded him more of a zombie.

"You are not Lucas," Dean whispered, his voice full of resentment, "The guy my parents befriended died here days ago."

"Perhaps you are right," Lucas pondered, "How inconvenient for you…" All of the sudden, Lucas put his hand inside his old vest and revealed a machete. He put it against Dean's throat: "I could slit your throat and leave you here, but what would be the joy in that? I have another idea. Let's recall something that happened to your loving mother. You might remember it…" Lucas dragged Dean to his feet and slammed him against the wall. Dean never felt so helpless before, but the guy was supernaturally strong and Dean still weakened from his tumble down the stairs. Dean tried to hit the guy, but Lucas was too fast. He slammed the machete trough Deans left shoulder, and into the wall, firmly attaching Dean to it. Lucas took a few steps back to admire his work, whilst Dean screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Well, you make a nice wall decoration," Lucas sounded amused. Dean was breathing heavily, trying to ignore the agony he felt.

"Are you just gonna leave me here?" Dean spat, "Like a coward?"

"Oh, no, no no! You underestimated me!" Lucas turned around and walked toward the crates with the empty bottles. That was, until seconds ago Dean'd believed them to be empty, but now he noticed not all of them were.

"Molotov cocktails," Lucas waved three bottles in the air. Deans eyes were became as big as saucers Lucas was going to toast him, just like…

"You'll burn, kiddo. Just like your mom. You can talk about it with her when you reach heaven. Share stories about how awful you felt and such… I hope you'll have a great time doing so," Lucas grinned and made his way towards the stairs. "I hope you'll like the heat," he said, "and I hope your Dad will like your screams. I drugged him just enough so he can't move. But he will hear you. Bye Dean!" Lucas laughed maniacally as released the bottles from his grip.


	5. Step 1: Escape

**Hey there!**

 **So here is another chapter =D I coudln't update earlier, as I want to watch The Minions Moviie yesterday (I love Bob and his teddybear Tim). I hope you like the chapter. Stay tuned. Oh and DearHart, I am sorry but no Sam yet. He is still studying I guess ;-) But no worries, he'll show up later and be his adorable self!**

 **See yah,**

 **Ellyn**

The entire cellar lit up when the Molotov cocktails exploded. Instantly, it became smoking hot down there. Dean only needed seconds to recover from the shock. He had to get out of there, rather sooner than later. But first, he had to get himself free, the prospect of which did not delight him the tiniest bit. The machete had torn a large hole in his shoulder, which bled profoundly. His shirt was soaked with blood and his left arm felt numb. He raised his right in order to pull the machete out. As soon as he touched the thing, a cry slipped through his lips. Dean bit his tongue. He would not scream, he told himself. He would not to that to his dad.

In the meantime, the staircase had caught fire. It was getting even hotter and the smoke did anything but good to Deans already sore lungs. Dean collected all the courage he did not realize he still had left and yanked at the machete. He managed to pull it out of his shoulder at once. Blood started pooling rapidly. Dean almost lost consciousness and sank to his knees. For a mere second he considered giving up and letting the fire consume him, but he shook the thought away. His dad was up there, with Lucas. He got to help him, get them out of there, before the fire reached the hall. He couldn't let his dad die. And he couldn't leave Sammy.

But if Dean wanted to reach his father, it meant he had to get out of the cellar first. Fire spread all around him. There was no way he could run through it without getting hurt. In a desperate attempt to kill the flames, Dean waved the machete he'd pulled from his shoulder around. It didn't help.

'If I stay here, I get toasted anyway,' Dean thought by himself. The fire was spreading and within minutes, the entire cellar would be ablaze. After that, parts of it would certainly collapse. There was only one option left for Dean: run through it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down and shut his pain out. It sorta worked and Dean silently prayed that everything would be over soon. When he opened his eyes again, he was ready for it. Adrenaline surged through him as he sprinted forward, ignoring his injured foot. He ran through the fire and up the stairs. To his surprise, he felt none of it. As he reached the top of the stairs, he slammed the old door shut behind him, took a few more steps and collapsed on the wooden floor of the hall. He wanted to lie there and just sleep for hours when he noticed the smell of burning flesh. His flesh! His pants were on fire. Dean rolled around in an attempt to kill the flames. Fortunately for him, it worked. Dean did not dare to look at the damage the fire'd brought to his legs, but he started to feel it. He doubted he would be able to walk very far. If he could just find his dad…

Dean rolled over so he lay on his belly and gazed up. To his relief, he found John Winchester sitting next to the kitchen door, just where Dean had left him.

"Thank god," Dean whispered. He almost started to cry. "Dad!" he shouted, but he did not receive an answer. What was it Lucas said? "I drugged him just enough so he can't move, but he can hear you."

Dean cursed, he should not have walked away from dad when they'd arrived earlier this evening. If he hadn't, he probably would have noticed what Lucas had done. It was all his fault.

"Dad," Dean croaked, "Dad, please. I'm sorry. I'll get us out. Just hang on, alright." With the little strength he had left, Dean pulled himself forward, only able to use his right arm. He'd tried to use his legs, to no avail. After what seemed to last forever and was likely the most agonizing experience ever, Dean reached his father.

"Dad!" Dean looked up at his father's face. Now he noticed that John Winchesters eyes were open, staring at him. Those eyes screamed pure horror. Dean managed a reassuring smile: "It's gonna be ok dad, I promise." Dean patted his dad pockets, looking for his cellphone: "Please did not leave it in the car, please, please."

"Looking for this," a voice behind Dean said. Dean did not have to turn around to know who it was.

"I hoped you'd make it out of the cellar," Lucas's voice had a creepy cheerful edge to it. Dean did not dare to look around and instead gazed up at his father. He noticed a tear rolling down John's cheek. His dad must believe that it's over. But Dean was not ready to give up, not while his family still lived.

"We gotta get back to Sam," Dean told his dad, "It's not over yet." Behind him, Lucas laughed loudly: "As you say, not over 'yet'".


	6. The escape - part 2

**Hey!**

 **So here is chapter 6. I hope you guys still enjoy the story. I did not get any feedback on the latest chapters, so I hope they were alright ;) If not, please tell me! I already wrote most of the story, but I can still adjust is (in case it is too slow, too boring, too ooc or full of errors). Anyway, don't mind the names of streets and towns I use in this story. Some of it are real places, but I just picked them up from google and don't really know where they are or what they look like. I am not an expert in geography anyway =P**

 **So enjoy the story and keep me posted if you want to say something about it!**

 **Kisses**

 **Ellyn**

John mentally cursed as he sat there, in the middle of a deserted hall of a creepy, burning house in the middle of nowhere. He tried to remind himself every minute that this was all his fault and if they ever made it out alive, he owed Dean a debt. And an explanation. And an apology. And so much more.

Although John couldn't move, he had heard and seen everything that'd happened: how Dean went down the cellar with Lucas, how his son got attacked, how Lucas set the cellar on fire, how Lucas had returned without Dean and ran away and how Dean had emerged from the cellar minutes later, bleeding and burning. He had also seen how his oldest'd managed to crawl towards him, probably pure by willpower. And it made John cry. Dean did not deserve this, and the kid was in a desperate need of help. Yet John could only watch as his son struggled to stay awake.

"Well, well, well. What should I do with you two," John heard Lucas say. John did not know when the man had returned, but he knew he wanted to throttle the guy. This was not the Lucas he had known years ago. This creature looked like Lucas, but Lucas himself was long gone.

"You can consider letting us go and drop dead," Dean suggested. It pained John to hear how hollow and weak his son sounded. 'He's not gonna make it if we don't do something,' John told himself. He tried to move again, yet failed.

Lucas seemed to enjoy Deans sarcastic behavior: "Nah, not my style. But thanks for suggesting." Lucas looked at John and for a moment and John's heart stopped. The eyes… They turned yellow – just for a second and then it was gone.

"What are you?" John tried to say. To his surprise, he actually managed to make a sound. Dean must have noticed it too, because the boy turned his gaze away from Lucas and back to his dad. It hurt John to look at the sad smile on Deans face. The boy clearly hadn't given up. Lucas walked away from Dean, made his way towards John and pushed the barrel of his shotgun against Johns temple.

"Let's play a game, shall we?" Lucas proposed, his evil eyes glistening, "Dean, kid, do I have your attention?" Dean groaned. Tears of pain stroked his cheeks and John noticed he could barely breath. His sons shoulder was covered in blood and his eyes were unfocused and drifting shut. 'He's about to pass out,' John was certain of it.

"Please…" John managed. Lucas hit the side of John's head with his gun. "What?" he asked - smirking, "What is that John? Are you begging? Well, that's not part of the game is it? No, no, no. You see, these are the rules: as long as Dean is struggling to hold on to life, you can watch. As soon as he passes out or - god help us – dies, I put a bullet in that ugly head of yours," Lucas smiled viciously. Dean looked at his dad in horror, suddenly wide awake. The kid had been ready to faint only seconds ago, but now he was holding on more than ever. He even started to move. Lucas laughed: "This is getting better and better every minute. You think you can stand up to me, boy? Why don't you just give up? It's easier for all of us."

Dean did not let Lucas' words bother him and continued his struggle to stand. John had no idea how the kid had managed to move. After an intense fight with his injured body, Dean stood, but his legs wobbled. John could see the big, black burn on his sons right leg. He even believed he could see some of the bone, but John hoped he'd been mistaken. Lucas's smile had died in the meantime. John felt his chest swell proudly a he saw that the monster actually looked worried.

"Come on, Dean," John mumbled, glad that he had found his voice again. As if the little encouragement coming from his father gave him all the strength he needed, Dean lashed out. It was clear that Lucas had not expected him to do that. Dean grabbed Lucas' gun and pried it away from John. The gun went off, but John couldn't see the place where the bullet'd hit. Dean and Lucas fell backwards, Lucas landed on top of Dean. John heard his sons cries of pain and they were soon followed by a gagging sound.

'Lucas is choking him,' was the first thought that came into John's mind. But he had been wrong. Lucas rolled of Dean and was grasping is throat. His fingers were trying very hard to stop the blood flow caused by the hole in his neck. John could see the bite-marks. 'O my, Dean tore a part of Lucas' throat out with his teeth," John realized to his immense disgust. He made himself swear that he would make sure that Dean would never, ever, have to do something like that again. But that were things to deal with later. Right now, only one thing mattered: Dean did it. He'd won, he'd taken Lucas by surprise and he'd won. And now they had to get out of here as fast as possible. The hall had caught fire in the meantime, and the building would be turned into a large pile of ashes soon.

John tried to move once more, but still couldn't. He wanted to make sure his son was still conscious. But by the sight of it, he was, because Dean started to move. For a moment, John believed he would come to him, but he crawled towards Lucas instead. The man was still gurgling and twisting and, but was no longer paying attention to the middle Winchester or trying to kill him.

"What…" John tried to ask, but he already noticed. Dean pulled Johns cellphone from the back pocket of Lucas' jeans. His son dialed 911. John watched as Dean rolled on his back and put the phone against his ear. He could hear the voice of a woman answer his call: "911, what's your emergency?" But Dean did not reply. Again, he heard the woman asked: "Hello, 911, what's your emergency?" But Dean didn't say anything.

"No," John whispered, "Dean!" John shouted. He'd finally found his booming voice again. "Dean!"

"Hello, sir?!" the voice from the cellphone said. John, glad that he could talk again like he should, started to shout in the direction of Dean's limp form.

"Hello! This is John Winchester. My son and I were ambushed! We need help, now! My son, I think…" John stopped abruptly. He'd wanted to say that Dean was dying. But John could not say it out loud, it made it seem too real.

"I understand," he heard the woman say, "where are you?"

"Old, abandoned house in Leavenworth. It's near 5th artillery road. You'll see, the building is on fire!"

The woman mumbled something John couldn't make out. He tried to move again, in order to grab the phone. And to his amazement, it worked. Very slowly he crawled towards Dean on his hands and knees and took the phone from Deans hand. He murmured some instructions to the woman, whilst never taking his eyes of Deans bruised face. He looked like he'd fallen asleep. Whilst John talked to the 911 woman, he checked Dean's pulse. It was there, but weak.

The woman finally assured him that help was already on his way and would arrive within less than 10 minutes. John thanked her and hung up. He carefully patted Dean's face: "Dean, son? Come on kid, you have to wake up. It'll be over soon. I'm sorry Dean, I am truly sorry! Please, talk to me!" John wanted to hit Dean in the chest, shake him, do anything to wake him up, but he dared not. He was afraid to hurt him more. All he could do was gently pull his son onto his lap and stroke his cheek with his thumb, like he had done numerous times when Dean was little and Mary had still been alive. As John moved his leg to adjust his position, he noticed it felt wet and sticky. John looked away from Deans face to see what it was and noticed he was sitting in a pool of blood.

"What !?" John asked aloud, and then he finally noticed where the rogue bullet from Lucas' shotgun had hit. It was lodged right beneath Deans ribcage, on the left side of his body.


	7. Rescued

**Hey guys!**

 **THANK YOU for all the nice reviews. I got quite a lot of them (to my standards =P) so thanks! Here is chapter number 7. It's short, I know, but don't worry! Chapter 8 will be up later this evening. So enjoy this short one for now. I'll do my best to keep the story interesting. I hope you guys still like it!**

 **Bye!**

 **Ellyn**

By the time John heard the sirens, he'd already gone frantic. He was trying hard to stop the blood flowing from both Deans side- and shoulder-wounds. He had not even noticed that the fire that was consuming parts of the hall by now. The flames were crackling, but John only had eyes and ears for Dean. The limp form in his arms did not move. Dean was even barely breathing.

"Don't leave me, please Dean, don't go. I need you. Sammy needs you, come back!" John commanded. It did not have the effect it would have had if Dean'd been awake.

"Sir!" someone shouted from the door, "Sir!" John looked over his shoulder and noticed two fire-fighters standing in the doorway. They were fully dressed in their uniforms. "We'll get you out of here!" Both of them carefully made their way towards John and Dean. The taller one of the two tried to pull John away, but he wouldn't let him. "Dean first!" John coughed. He had not noticed all the smoke before, but he did now. The fire-fighter shook his head: "No sir, we'll come back for him. You can walk." But John still wouldn't move: "I am not leaving without him!"

"We can't move him without a stretcher sir," the smaller fire-fighter told him.

"Then fetch one!" John commanded. The men gave up. They looked at each other, desperate. One of them finally nodded and took off. John hoped he was getting that damned stretcher. The other guy stayed with him and Dean.

"Is there anyone else out here?" he asked John. John considered not telling them about Lucas, but he changed his mind almost immediately. They could find him later, in the ashes of the building.

"Yes, the guy who ambushed us. My son was attacked by him and he… he's dead," John admitted. The fire-fighter only nodded and gazed at the door. Half a minute later, a whole bunch of people emerged from the door opening, holding a stretcher. John sighed relieved as they started to pull Dean onto it and made their way outside. Small and Taller stayed with him and helped him up, leading him towards the door. Outside, an ambulance was waiting for him. But John did not care about himself, he only wanted to know about Dean.

"Where is my son!" he boomed, looking around him.

"They took him to the hospital immediately," a medic told John as he walked over to assess the latter's wounds. John wanted to shout, but started to cough some more instead. Someone put an oxygen mask against his face. "Calm down sir, you won't help your son by choking yourself. Everything is gonna be fine. Relax, breath!" the medic urged. John sensed that the man was lying. He wanted to know, he wanted his son to be safe. Mary would never forgive him if he let Dean die. Sammy wouldn't either. 'Oh god,' John thought, "Sammy! I need to look after Sammy!" he shouted.

"Who's Sammy?" the medic asked calmly. Behind the man, a police officer showed up, listening to what John had to say.

"My son, my other son. He is alone, we should've been back by now, he will be worried," John rambled. The medic looked over his shoulder at the police officer, and the man nodded.

"Sir, police department," the man told him kindly – flashing his badge, "Can you tell me where I can find your son? We will pick him up and make sure he's ok. We'll bring him over to the hospital."

For once in his life, John felt like he wanted to kiss a cop. He gave the man the address of their apartment and watched as the police officer drove away.

"Now, we must get you to the hospital," the medic declared. John suddenly was drawn back to the hard reality after feeling the joy of making sure Sam was alright.

"Dean…," John stammered, but then he could say no more as the medic drugged him. John passed out cold within seconds.


	8. The hospital

**Hey again!**

 **As promised: Chapter 8. I hope you'll like it. More will happen in the next chapters; and Sam will have something to do besides sitting around - I promise. But this will be it for now. I wont be updating this weekend and it might take me until Wednesday as I will be out of town for a while (going to I festival, hurray ;-) ). I'll see what I can do, maybe I'll find some time to post chapter 9 before that! Oh and, same as usual, any comments or contstructive criticism is welcome!**

 **See yah!**

 **Ellyn**

Sam sat on a blue plastic chair in the ICU and felt terribly out of place. He shouldn't be here, he should be at home, studying, with his brother by his side and his dad watching TV. Cause that's what fourteen year olds do. They don't wait for doctors to tell them if their brother and father are alright. They're not picked up in the middle of the night by police officers.

Sam stared at the officer who was seated beside him. It was a chubby guy, fitting the fat, kind police officer stereotype. The only thing that was missing were the donuts.

"It's been an hour!" Sam complained, "I want to see my brother!" Sam was worrying sick inside. Nobody wanted to tell him what had happened, except that it was bad and included fire. But they could as well have told him nothing.

"You will, just be patient," the officer told him once again in his warm voice. Sam pulled his knees up to his chin and rested his head on them, gazing at the doors in front of him. Dean would emerge any second, laughing. And Sam would run towards him, hug him as if he hadn't seen him in years and call him a jerk. Dean would flash his trademark smile and call him a bitch. And all would be good in this world. Sam really tried to believe that, but he couldn't.

So when the doors swung open five minutes later, Sam was not surprised to see it wasn't Dean who came out. He got his dad instead.

"Dad!" Sam gasped. His dad looked exhausted and asleep, yet unharmed. Sam stood up from his chair and walked over to his dad's hospital bed. One of the nurses who was wheeling it through the corridor asked if Sam was John's son and Sam nodded.

"Your dad is lucky. Seems like he's been out of it for a while and his lungs are full of smoke. We have to keep him on oxygen for the night, but he can go home tomorrow, if everything goes well," she assured him with a gentle smile.

"When will he wake up?" Sam asked.

"Soon, we hope. They had to drug him because he did not want to go with the ambulance, but the doctors say the effects are already wearing of. He'll come around soon."

Sam sighed. Typically dad, not wanting to ride the ambulance. But most of the time, he had good reason for it, Sam realized. It couldn't be…

"Why didn't he want to come? Was it because of my brother, where is my brother?" Sam demanded impatiently. Someone took him by the shoulder. It was the police officer, who had followed him. The nurse gazed at the officer, who shook his head. 'Don't tell him,' he seemed to say. Sam looked from the officer to the nurse and back. "Tell me!" he shouted.

"Don't yell, please," the nurse whispered, her voice still kind. Sam's eyes suddenly felt wet. He stampeded: he was not going to cry!

"If my brother died, you can just tell me," he croaked, defeated. There, he said it, what he had been dreading ever since the police officer knocked on the door of their apartment more than two hours ago. The nurse gave him a pitiful look and glanced at the officer, but it was someone else who answered.

"Sammy." It was John, who still appeared half asleep, but had opened his eyes. He held his hand up, wanting Sam to take it. Which he did.

"Where's Dean, dad?" Sam demanded. But John only looked at him, his eyes unfocused.

"Do we have the permission to tell him, sir?" the officer asked John. John's unfocused eyes latched onto the man. "Tell us both, as soon as we are in my room. Not the entire hospital needs to hear." Dad sounded exhausted, but Sam was glad he spoke up. By the sound of it, dad knew no more about Deans condition than Sam.

When the nurses wheeled dads bed into his room, Sam sat down in the chair next to the window, crossing his arms and gazing from the police officer to the nurse and back, waiting for an explanation.

The nurse dropped her eyes and said: "I'll be back in a second." She left the room in a hurry. The police officer went to stand behind John's bed, but faced Sam.

"Do you know what happened, Sam?" he asked gently. Sam shook his head. And the police officer started to speak. He explained how his dad and brother were found in a burning house after Dean'd called 911. He'd told them they'd been ambushed, but Sam knew that was not the entire truth. He told himself to ask dad about it later.

Anyway, the officer couldn't tell them anything about his brothers medical condition, as he actually did not know about it. All he knew was that the man who'd ambushed them was found in the house – dead, burned beyond recognition. The officer said that dad would be questioned later, but that he did not have to worry. The police believed there was no reason to charge Dean or dad with anything serious. It clearly appeared to be a self-defense situation, he said. Sam found that last part very odd, but he was glad that his brother and father would not have to go to prison. Yet, he felt weird about it.

By the time the officer finished his story, the nurse had reentered the room. She brought a young man dressed in a white coat. A doctor – Dean's doctor Sam guessed.

"If there are no further questions at the moment, I'll leave you for now," the police officer offered. John nodded and thanked the man for his help, after which the latter left the room.

"So," the doctor began, taking a step towards John's bed. The nurse remained next to the door.

John and Sam both looked expectantly at the doctor and the man sighed.

"As you might know, your brother is still in surgery. I can tell you that he's still alive." The sound of that did not please Sam. 'Still alive' meant that Dean was on the brink of death.

"How is he?" John croaked.

"I got to be honest with you, mister Winchester," the doctors eyes shot towards Sam.

"It's ok, he can know," John told the doctor before he could ask.

"Fine, but it's not pretty. Your son is in bad shape, mr. Winchester. And frankly, we have no idea how he made it this far. He is a fighter, I can tell you that. The extent of his injuries… Your son has several broken ribs, a collapsed lung. He has a severe shoulder wound, his collarbone is also broken. His ankle is twisted and needed stitches. His legs are burned. The left one is not so bad, considering. Only first degree burns. But the right one is burned badly. It's all black and burned to the bone. He'll need multiple surgeries to fix the damage, considering he makes it through this one."

Sam's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, and he had not even heard all of it.

"And then there is the bullet wound underneath his ribs. His spleen was hit, which lead to internal bleeding. We had to remove it. The bullet damaged his stomach also, but we managed to repair most of it. But it'll be a long recovery from a wound like that."

Sam swallowed, not knowing what to say. Dean should be dead, considering his list of injuries. How did he survive this? As if the doctor had heard his unspoken question, he said: "Your son must have an angel watching over him, for I have never met someone who survived a set of injuries like that. He's not out of the woods yet, but he still has a chance. We'll do everything we can to fix him. But it'll take time. If you would now excuse me, I have to go back to the operating quarters. As soon as Dean is out and you can visit him, I'll come and get you." By those words, he got up, nodded towards Sam and his dad, and left. Sam looked at John, and to his surprise, the man was crying.

"This is all my fault Sammy, all my fault," John told him. And for once, Sam did not find know what to say to his dad.


	9. Better call Bobby

**Hey guys,**

 **I know it's been a while, but as I said I've been out of town and I stayed away a little longer then expected. I am sorry for the delay. I give you this chapter and another one for today. I hope you'll like them. I hope to update tomorrow as well, but as I leave the country for a couple of days later this week and have some preparation to do, I can not promise anything. But I can tell you I will finish this story! Bobby will show up soon and he and Sam will be getting some action later on - I promise ;-)**

 **Bye for now!**

 **Ellyn**

"This better be good," an annoyed Bobby announced trough the speaker of Sam's cellphone. Sam felt a shiver go down his spine. In his need to talk to someone – someone not named John Winchester – he had forgotten that it was 3 o'clock in the morning. He must have woken Bobby from his sleep. And by the sound of it, Bobby really did not appreciate that.

"Bobby, it's Sam." It took a few moments before the older man reacted. Sam heard him yawn before he said: "Sam? Winchester? What's so urgent you need to call me at this hour? Don't you have to sleep? It'll be school on Monday!"

"I know Bobby, but…" Sam sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have called. He shouldn't bother Bobby with his problems.

"Well?" Bobby urged, "I am already awake now, so just spit it out boy."

"It's Dean, and dad. And this hunt you sent them on," Sam began.

"I did not send them on any hunt kiddo," Bobby replied. Sam frowned. Dad had clearly stated that Bobby had send them, Sam was sure of it.

"But dad…" Sam stuttered, confused.

"Never mind buddy," Bobby's voice was soft and caring now, "We'll talk about that later. What about your family? What happened?"

And so Sam explained: about how he had been arguing again, how Dean took the burden, how his dad had left – angry. He told Bobby that he had been rude to Dean and felt sorry for it. How the police showed up hours later. He told Bobby about his dad and how he cried and did not talk at all. And about Dean, who could die any second.

"Holy mother," Bobby whispered, "Sam, where are you? I am coming over. You shouldn't be alone."

"Dad's here," Sam murmured. He did not want Bobby to come over. They were too far away and his dad would blame him for trusting Bobby with his problems over his own father.

"Yeah, sure he is. And that dickhead got you into this mess. Listen Sam, either you tell me where you are right now, or I'll find out myself. We both know which is the easier way."

There was so much truth in that, so Sam gave in. "We're at Cascade Medical. Dad's in a room on the second floor. Number 512. You can find me there. Unless something happens and…"

"Alright kid, I'll find yah. Stay put. It's gonna be a long drive but I'll be there in a couple of hours. I'll bring breakfast for you," Bobby offered.

"Yeah, that would be great," Sam was sure he could not keep any food down at the moment but he felt like it was rude to decline Bobby's kind gesture.

"See yah Sammy," Bobby said before he hung up. Sam tucked his phone in his pocket and made his way back towards the hospital. He had gone outside to make the phone call, so John would never hear. Something was very wrong with his dad. Sam never saw him cry, like ever. Dean once told him that the last time dad cried was at his mother's funeral. That was almost fourteen years ago. 'That's a long time,' Sam told himself, 'Maybe it was time he showed some real emotion.'


	10. John's silence

Sam bought a cup of coffee from the vending machine on his way back to his father's room. He was getting tired, but he did not want to fall asleep. If anything happened to Dean, he wanted to be there. He took a sip from his coffee as he walked into his dads room. John Winchester was wide awake, staring at the white wall in front of him. It made him look a bit psychotic.

"I'm back," Sam announced, and John almost jumped with surprise.

"Sammy, I did not hear you," John apologized, pushing his oxygen mask away so he could talk. Sam gave him a worried look. This certainly was not normal.

"Bobby is coming over," Sam told John straight away. He figured it was no use keeping the news from his dad, as he would find out soon enough. Sam'd expected John to protest – he'd even thought of a way to retort any of John's questions – but his dad just said: "Fine."

That made Sam almost snap. His dad was never fine with anything.

"No, dad," Sam put his cup of coffee on John's bedside table and carefully sat down at his father's feet, "It's not fine. I know you lied about the hunt. Bobby didn't know about it."

John only nodded and pointed at Sam's cup of coffee: "Can I take a sip?"

"You should ask the doctor, not me. But go on if you like," Sam watched as his dad picked up the cup, removed his oxygen mask, drank some of the hot liquid, put the cup back on the table and readjusted the mask again.

"So," Sam started, "are you going to tell the truth or should I keep guessing? Dean's not around to ask, so I'll have it either from you now or I'll keep bugging you until you tell me. All of it."

"Not now," John croaked.

"Not now, dad?" Sam spat, "When? Now is the time! I have been sitting here for hours, waiting for my brother, who can't be here – thanks to you – and it's about dham time you give me the truth."

But John shook his head. Sam wanted to throw something at the man, but they would kick him out of the room if he did. That way he could not keep bothering his father.

For the next 15 minutes, Sam sat cross-legged on his dads hospital bed, trying to get an answer out of the man. Everything he did, did not work. Pleading, commanding, crying – John would have none of it. It was like talking to a statue. Finally, Sam decided he'd had enough.

"I give up," he exclaimed, "You selfish bastard. Why won't you tell me what happened to my brother. I have the right to know? I guess I shouldn't have been here all this time. My place is with Dean. So if you need me, you know where to find me. But I guess you don't need anyone, do you?" By those words, Sam jumped of the bed and stormed off. Deep inside he hoped his dad would call after him, to start arguing like they always do. But he didn't.


End file.
